


The Moment

by pleasereadmeok



Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-21
Updated: 2015-10-21
Packaged: 2018-04-27 07:57:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5040313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pleasereadmeok/pseuds/pleasereadmeok
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Until that moment Henry had lived his life moving from one frantic, passionate, sexual encounter to the next and that had been enough to satisfy him.  But now?  Now he wanted more.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Moment

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place the morning after ‘The Process’. I seem to have missed out all of the smut in between. Careless of me. I will make up for it soon. ; ))

Mary wasn’t exactly sure when it had happened. The moment when she realised that everything had changed. When she realised that she didn’t want this to end. 

She examined the man sleeping beside her and tried to figure it out. Last night Henry had just been a potential lover, flirty, persistent, relentless even, in his quest to get into her bed. But now? She searched his sleeping face for answers to the questions she still had. They had spent hours making love but somehow she knew him less now than before - and yet she knew enough. 

Mary thought she had understood this man and what he wanted from her. She had assumed this would be a minor episode in her life - one night of sex and then goodbye. Now she was not so sure. Everything felt different this morning. Now Henry was the man who had made her feel so adored, so satisfied and yet had not asked for anything in return. He had been gentle, tender and careful of her feelings. It had been a long time since a man had looked after her so. Matthew was a virgin when they married, although Mary had that one, terrible, encounter before - but they learned together. Although Henry was experienced, she wasn’t intimidated by that fact. She found she had the same comfortable, safe feeling that she had felt with Matthew – and now she could not bear to let it go.

Gillingham had wanted to possess her, to own her, but this man wanted to make her happy. Henry had been content to spend hours holding her in his arms, stroking her skin, caressing every inch of her body and talking. Everything he did was for her pleasure and Mary could not bear to lose this now she had found it again.

As the day dawned and light streamed in through the curtains, she studied his features. There was a slight shadow of stubble on his chin, a tiny frown separating the eyebrows that framed those puzzling eyes. She could never make out the colour of his eyes. Were they green or blue? They changed with every passing shadow or ray of sunshine. Her eyes rested on the lips that had been so soft on her skin the night before.

Henry moved in his sleep and the covers fell from his body. He was naked, right in front of her. She could just reach out and touch him. If she touched him, he would be bound to wake and leave her. But Mary wanted to touch him so much. She wanted to trace her fingers across his chest and over the muscles in his stomach. She smiled as her gaze moved further down and her urge to reach for him was overwhelming. She brushed her fingers against Henry’s arm and he moaned softly in his sleep.  
“Mmm. Mary.”  
Without waking he stretched his arm around her and folded her onto his chest. Grateful it was her name he moaned, she relaxed, calmed by the rhythm of his heart, and slowly fell asleep.

When Henry woke the first thing he saw was Mary, fast asleep on his chest with her body pressed against his. He smiled, remembering their night together. He had been impressed when she had talked about her life over dinner. Mary’s eyes, as well as being the most beautiful brown Henry had ever seen, were full of life and fire. She was not bound by convention, by what society expected of her. She was driven, determined to succeed for the sake of her son. Henry recognised the same character traits in himself. A kindred spirit. His equal. His match.

Henry couldn’t pinpoint when it had happened. The moment when he realised that he didn’t want to let Mary go. She’d been clear that this was just sex, one night, nothing more. When they had finally got to bed she was passionate and wonderfully open to anything. He sniggered quietly to himself, maybe that was the moment, when she been enthusiastically sucking his cock? No, not then. Was it when she had finally relented and whispered, “Do you really promise to be careful?” and he was inside her at last? No. It was afterwards when they lay cuddling, talking, kissing, when the thought had come into his mind, _“It could always be like this.”_ Until that moment Henry had lived his life moving from one frantic, passionate, sexual encounter to the next and that had been enough to satisfy him. But now? Now he wanted more. He wanted Mary. But she’d made it plain that she didn’t want him. He would have to withdraw graciously and let her live her life without him in it.

Henry checked the time, 4am. The servants would not be about until 5.30 but he needed to leave soon to avoid being discovered. He didn’t want Mary to face disgrace or gossip because of him. Perhaps he should just leave now? What was the point of staying? He didn’t know whether to wake her or slip away quietly. What was best? Slip away quietly, then he could remember their night together and not have to face her studied coolness that would surely return now this was over.

He carefully lifted Mary from his chest and slid out from under her. He got dressed quickly. Why couldn’t he just wake her up and be honest? But how could he possibly explain something he didn’t understand himself? _“Be a man for god sakes and tell her you want to see her again!”_ Maybe he should leave a note? He scrawled ‘Telephone me’ on the notepad on the dressing table. He stared at the paper and then scrunched it into his pocket. Why draw things out? Would he be able to bear seeing her again if nothing was to become of this? 

Henry noticed Mary's perfume bottle on the table, removed a fresh handkerchief from his jacket and dabbed some of the scent on it. _Stupid!_ But he had to have _something_ to remind him. He could not resist one last kiss. He lightly pressed his lips to hers and left. 

Mary woke and a sick feeling of loss washed over her. Henry was gone. He obviously didn’t want to face her in the morning – avoiding the awkwardness of the situation. She was surprised to feel a wet trickle down her cheek, a single tear in mourning for what might have been.

Henry stood on the landing half way down the stairs for what seemed like an age. As soon as the door of the house was shut behind him there would be no turning back, no chance to tell her how he felt. Now she would wake up and find him gone and be convinced that he had used her, or had she used him? His head started to ache and so he sighed and continued downstairs. 

Mary felt the weight settle beside her and opened her eyes. Henry was sitting on the side of the bed smiling at her.  
“I couldn’t bear to leave you without telling you how I feel. Mary ...”  
She said nothing, she just put her arms around Henry and held him close. She knew she would have to let him go before the servants woke - but not yet. There was still time.


End file.
